Whisper Me Hope
by frickangel
Summary: All he needs is a sign to keep searching for her. One Shot, slight GregSara. Part One of Two.


**Title: **Whisper Me Hope  
**Author:** frickangel  
**Fandoms: **CSI  
**Summary:** All he needs is a sign to keep searching for her. One Shot, slight Greg/Sara. Part One of Two.  
**Rating: **G  
**Character: **Greg.  
**Timeline: **Pre-Season 8 premiere  
**Spoilers: ** Only if you haven't seen the Season 7 finale.  
**A/N:** Inspired by the CSI Season 8 Promo. Since we all know it hasn't aired yet, I'm merely creating most of the scenarios up.  
**Warning: **Un-beta'd  
**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't know and don't I wish.

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The numbness that was creeping up on him, filling his senses and every nerve, had nothing to do with the exhaustion he was drowning in. It could be from the long hours he had been out there in the sky scanning through the barren desert where his brain was programmed to spot the slightest hint of red. Or maybe it was the fact that he was disappointed in himself for coming up empty-handed; disappointed in the world for punishing someone for something that wasn't her fault.

It was like the whole world had been suddenly put on pause and switched to slow motion; as if the lab was dragging itself along painfully slow, willing time to hold still and give them a chance. A chance to find that miracle she needed and one that he was beginning to lose faith in.

As he stood in the middle of the corridor, lost in the sea of desperation, he stared at the ghosts of this den as they shuffled to their work, mixing solutions and solvents together, ordering the machines to whirl and twirl for them, and praying.

Praying for Sara.

Greg glanced over the screen doors of Catherine's office as he peeked behind the protective shell of the blinds. The woman's blonde hair was tied into a messy ponytail as she hunched over a mountain of files and folders. Even the haggard and defeated looking Grissom was attacking the pile with her, throwing aside the useless information while sieving through the past records of Natalie's life and just trying—trying so hard—for a sign of something.

Anything.

Even the few doors down, he could see his fellow colleagues and close friends were huddled on one computer terminal. Both the large figures were seated in office chairs and rubbing the back of their necks, though Warrick's legs were longer and seemed like long bridges when he stretched out. Nick on the other hand, was furiously typing away then placing his strong fingers over the mouse and willing AFIS to work faster, even if it was only for a millisecond.

Captain James Brass, exhausted local town hero of justice, was barking orders on his cell phone as he made his way towards Nick and Warrick. The captain snapped it shut and mumbled words to the other two men. Greg was much too far to hear or even make out what the exchange was… maybe it was hope?

But Greg's feet refused to listen to him, not wanting to move a step closer as if they had resigned to the fate of the pool of numbness he was in. Yet he stood and watched them from afar, his hope soaring, as they seemed more animated by their conversation.

Nothing.

The senior CSIs shook their heads and resumed their mission upon the computer. Jim bestowed a pat on Nick's back and walked away. Their roles only taking a momentary break but now they were back as they were—searching.

Searching for Sara.

Burying his face into his hands, Greg sighed, trying to release at least a fraction of frustration into one breath. Finally forcing his feet to work, he allowed his legs to take control and bring him to wherever—he couldn't care less where, his mind had ceased functioning.

First his body stopped at the break room, his eyes setting on the new pot of coffee brewing; a tinge of bitterness seeping into its fragrance and enticing the weary workers to its elixir of life. He felt the brittle soft-smooth texture of the polystyrene cup between his fingers as he lifted the empty container up, ready to pour the black liquid in. Somehow, mid-way, Greg decided against it and replaced the cup. His licked his lips; still tasting the last cup of brew he had only half an hour ago. He'd lost count on the number of servings he had after the twentieth one. Even the sugar was beginning to be as bitter as the java he consumed. Maybe it was better if he worked out the caffeine from his system before overloading it again.

Tapping his finger on the metal tables, Greg's feet were once again taking over and, for some inexplicable reason, he found himself inside an evidence room. Not just any evidence room, but _the_ evidence room. It was the one filled with the reminder of a lost colleague and the dwindling life of a close friend.

For once in a long time, the place was void of any human presence. Others had found some sort of mission—a possible lead—into bringing them a step closer to finding Sara.

But he was lost, unsure of what his place was in all this chaos.

"Where are you?" he silently whispered at nothing. Slowly, he turned upon the miniature, focusing on the red-overturned car precariously left on the life-like doll. He shook his head as he tried again and again to rid the echoing sounds of the mechanics that moved the doll's hand. The thought and sight of the eerie truth sickened him and he was tittering close to nausea.

_"The doll's still alive… that means Sara's still alive."_

Forcing his sight away from the carefully man-made scene, he closed his eyes as he bent over, hands on his knees while getting air into his lungs.

One last gulp of air and he looked up.

Tacked to the thin walls of the room was a large map, parts of it circled and peppered with red crosses indicating that it held no signs of Sara's whereabouts. They combed through most of Nevada's desert, but the state's wasteland was vast and their resources limited, allowing them only educated guesses based on Natalie's life. But so far, none of those guesses were helping them except indicating exactly where she _wasn't_ hidden.

"Give us a sign…" Greg spoke again, looking up at the ceiling, pretending there was more than just concrete and metal above him. "She can't…" he choked and leaned his forehead against the glossy surface of the map. "She can't die."

Its wings fluttered silently as it flitted by, brushing across his cheek and sending goose bumps through his body. He jerked away from the alien feeling, his weariness causing paranoia to strike him and the adrenaline pumping.

But there was no threat or unexplained danger; Greg let a long sigh of relief spotting the light brown moth circle the room. How the insect entered the lab was quite a mystery by itself and here it was, blessing him with its company. The winged creature flew behind Greg, over his head allowing the fluorescent lighting to give it some sort of ethereal glow. In the end, it seemed that it tired as much as humans did and sought a place to land and take rest.

It somersaulted, as if showing off its agility to the only person there, and did two loops before skirting the map and around the red markings. Finally it landed, and then flapped its mottled wings before finding another spot and another and another. It took a while, but it decided to rest itself upon one of the few unmarked areas of the Nevada barrenness.

All this while Greg watched in quiet fascination, unsure of exactly why he was watching this winged creature take flight. Now, he moved nearer and was so close to the moth before looking past the intricate pattern of spots on its wings and directly at the coordinates of the map.

Exactly on the spot.

He could feel the gears in his mind spinning as it placed the jigsaw puzzle pieces together.

It made sense.

He began recalling every single word and fact from Natalie's files he had been reading. This one particular area of the desert seemed almost too perfect.

_Just why hadn't they thought of it?_

The hope had returned and it began bubbling within him, bringing new energy to fill the fatigue. He made a sharp turn, his shoes squeaking against the tiled floor while Greg dashed out. Before he could make it all the way out, he glanced at the tiny insect still resting, and then he looked up once more wondering if a higher power had humoured his plea. "Thank you," he mouthed.

Maybe, just maybe, they had the miracle they needed.

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**-END**

Thanks for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


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